Midnight Rose
by thefireascending
Summary: "She stormed into his life as though she owned each breath he took." Set near the end of the 2013 Christmas Special. Copyright allocated to this account.


It is often thought that the eyes are the windows to the soul.

Some say that everything can be hidden within them: buried, forgotten. But the things that are seen, and the things that are loved, can never truly disappear. Instead, they are haunting, devastatingly familiar. One cannot always wish for them to leave.

They lie dormant, patiently waiting for their time to arise again. And when it does, your whole world shall fall and burn around you.

One man knew this too well.

He went by many titles, yet one always seemed to stick. "The Doctor," they called him. His name was sung throughout the stars, carried upon the gusts of a thousand breaths. It is strange how something so ambiguous can come to mean so much.

But with that status came responsibility, and with responsibility came defeat. Despite his efforts, peace could never be found. There was always someone to be saved. Always a decision to be made.

And the choice always came down to him.

It was as though he was the only sun shining, with so many planets to care for. He brought life wherever he went, yet death followed him greatly. It kept its distance, lurking in the shadows, but it never seemed to retreat; it walked in his footsteps as though it was part of him.

And very soon, it would be.

He was old. Older than he'd ever been. Though his eyes stayed bright, there was something akin to sorrow within them. His time was ending.

It was only once he was alone- on a night where the snow had fallen heavier than ever before- that an unexpected visitor arrived. She stormed into his life as though she owned each breath he took. At first, he had heard the screams, the hushed whispers. But that was nothing new. For everybody, and everything, had come to the realisation that the Cybermen, the Daleks... they would never stop coming.

But then, amidst the quiet chaos, a gunshot was heard. The Doctor sat up slowly and fixed his tie. With a small groan, he reached for his cane. His footsteps were slow and faltered, but steadily, he made his way to the window.

The night sky was ablaze. Red shot into the atmosphere, the planet itself bleeding for its past victor. Fire raged amongst the town and fear filled the hearts of all who lived there. If he squinted his eyes and focused hard, the Doctor could make out a small shape at the heart of it all. It appeared familiar to him, as though he had passed it many times before yet never quite realised just how close it was.

A shadow. A breeze.

A girl.

He threw aside the cane and hobbled to the door, knocking old tools away with his shuffling feet. Absentmindedly, he ran his hands through his greying hair, as he would have done many years before. Along the way, he passed many frantic faces, yet he still could not help the excitement growing within.

But similarly to the downfalls of responsibility, joy had its own undoing: hope. So many unwanted aspects of his life seemed to be raining down upon him that night. But it was all worth it. All of it.

"Rose?" He staggered into the cool night, the ends of his woven coat billowing around his ankles. The moon shone like a beacon behind her, forming a small halo around her head. The gun dropped to the floor.

She walked towards him, strong and fierce, as though he hadn't aged a day. Her fingers trailed the fabric of his jacket, finally deciding to rest upon the tie around his neck.

Eyes bright with unshed tears, she stared at him awhile. Her hair was a little longer, clothes a little darker, yet the aura she emitted never seemed to change. He supposed that he liked that.

Rose looked around them then, glancing at the frost-stricken trees. "It's a little chilly out here, isn't it?" she smiled. He didn't know what to say. A million words raced through his brain- a million emotions. Pain, joy; sorrow, warmth.

But then she laughed, and he laughed too, for how could he possibly have resisted? She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close, whilst he tried to make that moment his forever. When she finally pulled away, she took his hand in her own, and he didn't fail to notice the way she ran her thumb along the indents in his skin. His eyes closed for a second, but no more.

The Doctor glanced behind where she stood, checking for signs of disruption. "A gun?" he grimaced.

Her grin widened. "You missed it really."

Although he offered no reply, he chuckled a little more- partly in disbelief. "We should go inside," he said. "No reason to stand around waiting when there's things to be done, places to see."

Rose looped her arm within his, but the Doctor's movements were slow. Only then did he realise that his cane was no longer in his grasp. He hobbled cautiously, eyes raking the ground. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.

Once inside, the Doctor motioned Rose towards the chair opposite his own. It was old and tattered, time having caused the material to turn a murky brown. If she looked closely, Rose could see a faded floral pattern beneath the dust. She wiped it away with ease.

The Doctor could feel her eyes following his every move as he made his way around the room. His legs had grown weaker still from the journey, despite the short distance, and his breathing had faltered. With one arm resting upon the side of his chair, he lowered himself down. The movement brought pain to his body, and he struggled to make it down; all previous strength was gone.

Rose hesitated before stepping forward, touching his arm gently.

"I can do it," he said, but the words were weak. She looked into his eyes, and for a moment, he hated what he saw in return. Her mouth opened and then closed, all words lost.

"I know," she said after a while. "Of course you can."

As she took her seat, Rose couldn't help but stare at his aged hands, at the tremors which shook them so thoroughly. She tilted her head. "How are you, Doctor? And I mean really."

"I'm old," he said. The words tasted bitter in his mouth and he wished that he could withdraw them, that he could erase the anger they carried. But Rose didn't even flinch. He relaxed a little. "I'm not the man I used to be. You can see that."

"I don't care."

The Doctor slumped against the back of his chair, fingers twiddling with the loose ends of his seat. "You can't be hanging around with an old grandad like me."

"You've always been old," Rose said, and the sides of his mouth turned up slightly.

"Never like this." With a small cough, the Doctor fixed his gaze elsewhere, eager to be rid of her pleading stare. "But not to worry. I've got my desk... my tie... my Cyberman head. Never been better."

"Doctor-"

"What more could an old man ask for?"

She stared at him then, and she stared at him hard. Her eyes drilled into his very being, seeking the answers he wouldn't reveal. The truth he would never say. And then amidst the calm facade and teasing words, she found what she was looking for. "Please."

His eyes met hers: regretful, wronged. "I've outlived so many. Parents, friends... children. They should be saying goodbye to me, Rose. Not the other way around. Never the other way around."

She reached for him and he took her hand, savouring the warmth of her skin and the feel of her touch. And then she spoke, but the words did not quite register. "You're going to have speak up. Don't let the size fool you," he said, attempting to lighten the situation, motioning to each ear with a single finger.

But the sound was still distant, as though it was drifting further from his grasp with each passing second. He felt his eyes begin to close, and no matter how hard he tried to fight it, he could not stop the blackness that began to take over. He could not cease its reigning victory.

Face a mirror of desperation, the Doctor finally gave in. He allowed himself to be absolutely and irrevocably absorbed by his grief, by the towering cloud that had always drifted over him. Just waiting. He knew then, on the brink between consciousness and the dark, that he was beyond repair. That he was broken. But he did not understand why it had to happen like this.

In the corner of his mind, he heard a low, resonating chime. The clock struck midnight, and then all was gone.

When light returned, the Doctor was alone again. He glanced around, reeling towards the window, praying profusely to any deity that may exist. Praying for it all to have been real. Praying for her.

"Just this once," he whispered. "Just this once, give me something to hope for."

But nothing came, and nothing ever would.

_Of course it was a dream_, he told himself. _Of course she isn't here_. He wished the pain would follow suit.

For life is like an ocean, an eternal void. And soon, he would no longer be around to see it.


End file.
